


An Unmarked Door

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Desperation, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft is finally found after a kidnapping, Lestrade is the only one who can help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unmarked Door

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile)[jaune_chat](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing! Title from [this beautiful poem](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/what-im-looking) by Maureen McLane.
> 
> Content advisory: mildly dubious consent due to heat (heat is the new sex pollen!).

“This way, Detective Inspector.” The woman led Lestrade through a labyrinth of hallways crowded with body-armored figures carrying automatic weapons. Lestrade didn’t slow down, but he did notice the smears of blood on the tile floor, the pockmarks of bullets in the concrete walls.

In front of a metal door at the end of a corridor, Anthea stood guard. She waved the minion back, and stepped up to speak to Lestrade. “He wouldn’t let anyone touch him.” Her voice sounded rough through the rebreathing mask she wore.

Lestrade nodded. He made himself think rationally, and run down the list of what he would ask at any other crime scene. “Is he injured?”

“Unlikely. They were waiting.”

Lestrade didn’t have time to consider the kidnappers now. Sherlock and John would apprehend them, if anyone could, and Lestrade had more pressing concerns. Despite the solid door, scent wafted into the hallway. His attention narrowed, shutting out all distractions from the omega—his omega.

“We’re getting a beta—someone on the personal staff-to come stand guard duty.” Anthea’s voice sounded muted and far away. “I can’t stay much longer.”

“I know.”

“She’ll get you whatever you need. Go.” Anthea took a deep breath and tugged open the door.

The wave of pheromones that rolled out rocked Lestrade backwards, but only for a moment. Then instinct propelled him forwards.

The room felt like a sauna, although that could have been Lestrade’s body temperature shooting up due to the presence of an omega in heat. The red wallpaper and warmly shaded lamps screamed cheap boudoir. The enormous four-poster bed at the room’s center completed the image. Curled on his right side in the center of the bed was the source of the scents enveloping Lestrade.

Mycroft Holmes lay very still, with his face pressed into his arms. Zip ties bound his wrists and ankles, though curled up as he was, Lestrade couldn’t tell if he was otherwise restrained. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, and his feet were bare, but otherwise he’d been left fully dressed. His shirt, under the waistcoat, looked fairly soaked through with sweat, and his trousers hadn’t fared much better. He didn’t move when the door slammed behind Lestrade.

Lestrade had been counting the days since Mycroft’s abduction, calculating the likely effects of suppressant withdrawal, then of the progression of a repressed heat. He couldn’t imagine how Mycroft was capable of remaining still at this stage; the weight of his clothes would be torture, every moment not touching himself, agony.

“Mycroft.” Lestrade ventured close enough to crouch by the bed. He didn’t trust his self-control to withstand touching Mycroft, so he kept his hands braced against the edge of the mattress, sliding against the red silk sheets.

Mycroft cracked his eyes open and peered out from beneath the shield of his arms. Through labored breaths, he wheezed, “I’m… terribly… sorry.”

Lestrade stared. His brain wasn’t functioning at its best, with all his blood rushing to his cock, and he had trouble keeping up with Mycroft’s busy brain at the best of times, so he couldn’t begin to decipher this particular puzzle. “What?” he managed.

“This is not… how I meant…” Mycroft squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then took a shuddery breath and opened them again. “You shouldn’t need to—“

“Stop, please.” Lestrade found himself leaning forward and caught himself against the edge of the mattress, holding back from pouncing on Mycroft like the particularly tasty morsel the prevailing scents assured Lestrade he was. “Save your strength.” Rare nights spent in the same bed with Mycroft had only just begun to involve learning each other’s bodies. Mycroft felt most comfortable being in control of their encounters, and Lestrade enjoyed their gradual explorations, the slow unfolding of Mycroft’s trust. He had little enough of the stereotypical alpha arrogance, and didn’t need constant demonstrations of Mycroft’s regard. But this, the complete, unavoidable exposure of Mycroft’s need hit him in a primal part of his animal brain. He couldn’t see Mycroft in pain. “I want to help. Anything you need. Tell me.”

Mycroft’s fingers clenched and unclenched, and his eyes, almost all pupil, darted across Lestrade’s face. “Touch.”

Lestrade reached up to cradle Mycroft’s face. Mycroft closed his eyes as a full-body shudder rocked him. He turned his face into Lestrade’s hand, pressing his nose against Lestrade’s wrist and breathing in his scent. Even that small contact jolted through Lestrade’s body like the most potent of drugs.

“Yes.” Lestrade scrambled onto the bed, unable to endure another moment of not kissing Mycroft. He felt his pulse pounding frantically as their scents began to mingle. Despite the fledgling intimacy they’d enjoyed, Lestrade had never been exposed to a scent like this: Mycroft in full heat. And he’d not had the gradual exposure a bonded pair would normally enjoy. To come upon Mycroft in this state--well into his heat and desperate--sent all of Lestrade’s instincts into overdrive.

He tipped Mycroft onto his back so he could roll on top, covering Mycroft’s body and staking his claim. Beneath him, Mycroft’s bound hands clutched at the front of Lestrade’s shirt. “Thank you… thank you.”

“I’m here.” He pressed a series of kisses up Mycroft’s neck, where his pulse jumped wildly. “Did you think I wouldn’t come? I’ve been mad with worry.”

“They wanted me to beg. Wasn’t certain I could hold out.”

“You don’t have to anymore. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“What I want?” Mycroft managed to raise an eyebrow, even as he labored for breath. His keen intelligence hadn’t disappeared in the mire of his heat—he clearly retained all the unfathomable faculties that he exercised so subtly, but now that brilliant mind had been harnessed to the runaway steam engine of his body’s needs. He couldn’t hope to avert the course, only to ride out the journey on his own terms. “What I need, Gregory.”

“Right.” Lestrade swallowed hard. “Clothes. I can’t imagine how you’re still wearing clothes. And these.” He plucked at the zip tie that tethered Mycroft’s wrists.

Mycroft pushed his hips up against the firm weight of Lestrade’s body, and his lips parted. Lestrade took that as an invitation to kiss Mycroft breathless. He pulled himself away before he lost himself entirely in the urge to rut against his mate.

The keys in his pocket found their way into his hand, and with some diligent sawing, he made short work of the ties binding Mycroft’s wrists. Once freed, Mycroft clutched at the sheets, staring up at Lestrade and panting. An edge of panic shone in his widened eyes.

Lestrade held still and employed all of his willpower to stop rocking against Mycroft’s warm, solid body.

“This is all… terribly unexpected,” Mycroft drew breath in a loud gasp, held it against the desperate heaving of his chest, and let it out in a huff, then did it again, as if gathering himself.

Lestrade had never seen an omega able to retain enough self-control to talk—to reason, even—at this stage of a heat. Lestrade revised his estimate of Mycroft’s resilience, which he’d already thought stratospheric, upwards. “Do you not want me to—“

“Be quiet,” Mycroft snapped. Then, after gritting his teeth for a moment, he said more softly, “If I hear your voice, I will be unable…” He took a quick, gulping breath. “It has been some time since I spent a heat with a partner. I am not accustomed to—“ A shudder ran through him, stiffening all his muscles, throwing his head back against the damp sheets, and baring his pale throat.

Every instinct screamed at Lestrade to take him, bury himself in that overwhelming scent and make it his, but he squeezed his eyes shut and pictured gruesome crime scenes, death and horror, the bodies left behind by the monsters who’d taken Mycroft, and he held himself in check.

When he opened his eyes again, Mycroft lay with his teeth clenched, air flaring his nostrils. “Gregory. I cannot know what I will say or do.”

“I understand.” Lestrade already treasured every moment of vulnerability, every glimpse behind the cool exterior Mycroft had shared with him. Nothing that could happen here would make him think less of the man who was so accustomed to being completely in control. “I want to be here, if you want me here.”

“I do.”

“Then we’ll put off any real decision making until after, yeah?”

“Agreed.” Mycroft nodded sharply, almost managing the poise he displayed in every other occasion. “Shall we move on?”

Lestrade glanced down at the zip ties that remained. “May I?”

“I think you must.”

Lestrade slid down Mycroft’s body to sever the tether that bound his ankles. Immediately, Mycroft spread his legs, opening himself up to Lestrade in a gloriously wanton display accompanied by a relieved groan.

Lestrade pressed his face against the front of Mycroft’s impeccably tailored trousers. He could feel the hard nub of Mycroft’s cock straining against the fabric. The smell was divine: earthy and primal, like heat always tasted to Lestrade, but something sharp too, almost citrusy, that made him think of pressing his face into the pillows on Mycroft’s bed after he’d got up in the morning.

Lestrade hooked his hands around the back of Mycroft’s thighs to pull him closer. He glanced up to find Mycroft watching him, glassy-eyed. “Off?”

Mycroft’s shaking hands fumbled at the clasp on his trousers while Lestrade mouthed at him through the damp fabric. At last he managed to unfasten and unzip. Lestrade took over to help pull down the trousers and pants far enough to free Mycroft’s bobbing cock.

Lestrade licked across the head to taste the liquid seeping out. Mycroft let out a helpless moan at that, so Lestrade took pity and sucked in the entire modest mouthful of Mycroft’s cock, wrenching a shout out of the man.

Many alphas paid little attention to omega cocks, as they had no practical use in the reproductive process, but Lestrade loved lavishing attention on Mycroft’s cock for the obvious pleasure it brought him. Lestrade treasured every new noise he’d teased out of Mycroft on previous occasions. Now, however, his goal wasn’t teasing or exploration, but relief. Mycroft had held onto his iron control long enough.

“Clothes, go on,” Lestrade prompted as he tugged at Mycroft’s trousers.

Mycroft, usually so deft, proved only marginally useful in this matter, so Lestrade ended up stripping off Mycroft’s pants and trousers, then his waistcoat and shirt as Mycroft held in anguished gasps and groans at the slide of cloth over his hyper-sensitized skin. At last he lay bare before Lestrade: flushed pink from his checks down to his chest, proud cock twitching in the thatch of ginger hair, legs spread wide, presenting himself for the taking.

The sight was a feast—too many wonderful possibilities at once. So often Mycroft insisted on turning the lights off or hiding under the sheets, so Lestrade had been offered few chances to enjoy seeing Mycroft this way. Lestrade promised himself a thorough tour later, after he’d taken the edge off the need that had Mycroft writhing beneath him.

“I need…I need—“ Mycroft repeated, clutching desperately at Lestrade.

“I know. I’m here.” Lestrade planted a hand against Mycroft’s shoulder, delivering the calming restraint he craved without actually restricting his movement. Then he slid his other hand between Mycroft’s spread legs, feeling the warm wetness there. When he pushed two fingers inside, liquid gushed over his hand, and Mycroft moaned like a dying thing. The heady scent blurred Lestrade’s vision for a moment, and he found himself on top of Mycroft, rutting against him and biting kisses into his neck.

“Gregory.” Mycroft grabbed Lestrade’s shirt and held on as he pushed up against him. “Do not make me wait.”

“Yes. All right.” Lestrade tore at his zip and shoved at his jeans.

“Skin,” Mycroft demanded, wrapping a hand around the back of Lestrade’s neck. “Can’t smell you. Mark me. Claim me.”

“Bloody… yes.” Lestrade stripped off the rest of his clothes with no order or finesse, only for Mycroft to immediately drag him back on top.

“Now. Mount me. Fuck me.”

Hearing that word come out of Mycroft’s mouth –his voice rough and breathy, but his vowels still unbearably posh—made Lestrade moan. He barely managed to line himself up before Mycroft hooked a leg behind Lestrade’s knee and dragged him forward to sink inside. They shouted together at the relief of being joined at last.

Mycroft rocked against Lestrade, greedy for more. He tugged Lestrade down by the back of his neck and kissed him, as if he meant to bind them together at every possible point. “Go on,” he panted against Lestrade’s cheek. “Show me.”

“I’m here now. You can let go. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Yes,” Mycroft growled. He shoved Lestrade, rolling them over to land on top. From there, he set a frantic pace, riding Lestrade hard. “This is what I think about. Last week in a meeting with the Home Secretary, I was imagining your knot. How it would feel to take it. I think about you bending me over the desk in my office. Your scent on me, inside me, making me yours. Claimed and wanted. Filled up entirely with you. I thought it was like heat before, this wanting, but this need—I can’t.” Gasping for air, he dug his fingers into Lestrade’s shoulders. “More.”

The invitation in that word sent a bestial hunger surging through Lestrade. He dragged Mycroft back down to the bed where he could hold him down and slam into him with all the heat-fueled strength he’d stored up in months of wanting Mycroft. The smell of their scents mingling, the firm flesh under his hands, the wet heat enveloping him—all of this spurred Lestrade on, giving everything he had, everything he was. Beneath him, Mycroft held on tight, repeating, “Gregory” like the name of a god.

Lestrade felt his knot begin to swell, and Mycroft pushed up against him, opening himself up to what felt to Lestrade like an impossible girth. Heat spread from there to every place they touched, skin blazing with sensation as pleasure crashed through Lestrade, swearing as he pumped endlessly into Mycroft’s welcoming embrace. Beneath him, Mycroft shouted, shook, the two of them gone mindless and animal in the pure pleasure of this.

When Lestrade could breathe again, he kissed one check, then the other, and Mycroft opened his eyes. “I love you,” Lestrade said, which was the first thought his sodden brain could put together.

Mycroft blinked at him twice. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly.

“But I do.” Lestrade smiled. “Budge over, you. I’m heavy, and you make a terrible mattress.” He found space for himself to lie down alongside Mycroft without having to separate even a bit. He settled his head against Mycroft’s shoulder, drifting in a pleasant haze.

Mycroft rested a hand gingerly against Lestrade’s hip. “Gregory. I—“

“Hush,” Lestrade said. He grasped blindly for Mycroft’s hand until he caught it and pulled it to his mouth to plant a kiss in Mycroft’s palm. “Important decisions after the heat is over, yeah?”

The silence went on long enough for Lestrade to crack open one eye to see Mycroft watching him with the full, powerful focus of his complete attention. He nodded, seemingly content for once to put off regaining his usual control. “Agreed.”


End file.
